Running for my Life

I did it. Signed up for a five-mile race. This is the way to do it, right before the event so there is no time to chicken out. Because I might, if I think about it too long. The course is tagged with a few good hills, and the route is right along the windy lakeshore. Five miles is a great length when I’ve been out with a pinched nerve and a tricky knee for months.

But I feel strong. And stupid. Or is that brave? A little of both really, with a mixture of amazement thrown in. I’ve been working for the last five or six weeks after a brief, unplanned hiatus, willing my muscles and my moxie to kick into gear. And it is finally paying off, in extra minutes tagged to the end of a run, or the completion of the beastly spinning class at the local Y.

And I cannot stop wondering. Who IS this woman who is sweating on a treadmill, forcing her knee and her wind and her heart to comply? Who IS this woman waking up before five to make the magic happen? Where has she been all my life, and is she willing to stick around now and go the distance?

Magic begets magic, and every mile brings me strength and pride. When the music is loud and the beat is strong, my legs comply to the cadence somehow and I will my breath to keep pace.

I smile while I run. You don’t see that often, but really I have not stopped being amazed at this new pastime in my life. And I smile so people wonder as I pass through puddles or work the treadmill. What could be going on behind that incongruous grin?

And even as I hear the weather report for the morning of the run and picture myself running on five inches of snow, I really am not all that deterred. Funny how life works. Doing things I’ve never dreamed with strength I never knew I had. And dealing with circumstances that are not at all ideal. And at the end of any run, I’m always glad to say: “I did it!”